


the kids are all right

by youatemytailor



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Braid fic, Fluff, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, This is literally all fluff, flint unwittingly adopting ten kids, i don't even know what this is but THEY BOTH HAVE FEELINGS, i don't know who i am anymore, mid s2 ish, silver being fascinated by flint's hair, silver having feelings about flint's ten kids, silver is verklempt over dad flint and so am i, silverflint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-06 00:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11589276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youatemytailor/pseuds/youatemytailor
Summary: It's only when the children finally break through the dense crowd that Silver realises three things in rapid succession; they are all girls, none of them are older than ten, and all of them—all of them, including the tiny one trailing in the back with a thumb in her mouth and a one-eyed doll in her hand—are looking straight at Flint."What the—" Silver starts, slanting Flint an incredulous look, "Are they talking to you?"“No.”There's something about the cadence of his voice that makes Silver laugh, once. Then Flint glances at him out of the corner of his eye.“Hang on,” Silver says, drawing close, “Do youknowthem?"





	the kids are all right

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. Inspired by [this](http://jamesvflint.tumblr.com/post/163137204756/i-saw-your-post-about-the-youre-doing-great) ask I received on tumblr. Mid s2? Who knows. Fluff. They're in love. Silver cannot handle Flint with children. Neither can I. We're both dead.

It slips out of him completely unintentionally, which is the troubling part in retrospect. One moment he’s on deck surveying the men and the next he’s distracted by the back of Flint’s head and before he knows it he’s opening his mouth to ask; 

"What's that in your hair, Captain?” 

He’s afforded a moment to hope that Flint hasn't heard him. Perhaps the wind is too loud, he thinks, perhaps the shouting of the men in the rigging has drowned him out, he hopes, perhapsthe captain is too focused on  _running the damn ship to be able to answer stupid fucking questions,_ he  _prays_ —but then Flint is lowering the glass from his eye and turning away from the horizon like a broadside being aimed. His brows have drawn into an irate frown by the time his gaze comes to rest on Silver, who is standing frozen a little ways across the deck like startled prey.  

"What?” Flint asks. 

It's too late to run. The only way out now is through. “Your—ah—“ Silver gestures with a hand. "Your hair, it."   

“ _What?”_ Flint asks, taking a menacing step forward. 

It only serves to bring him into a slice of sunlight and Silver squints, trying to see better, and when he does he feels himself smile, slow and dazed.

“You have a braid in it,” Silver says.

Flint’s eyes go wide. He immediately looks up in a panic but the strand of hair in question sits safely out of his eye-line, starting at his temple and leading perfectly into the knot at the back of his head. 

Silver hadn’t been lying when he had told Max it felt like a sickness; the tendency for his curiosity to occasionally win out over his hard earned instincts of self-preservation. Often the compulsion was mistaken for bravery or stupidity, or some combination of both. Neither descriptor had ever fit Silver quite right until now. 

"Did you braid it yourself, Captain?" Silver asks, and Flint looks at him again. His expression flutters for a moment, caught between embarrassment and fury before both sentiments disappear behind an impassive mask. 

"Does this conversation have a purpose?” Flint asks icily. 

"Honestly? No."   

"I thought as much.”   

Flint turns toward the stairs leading to the lower deck.   

"But—“ Silver starts, and Flint stops dead at the first step, tucking his chin into his shoulder. His instincts are screaming at him to let Flint go now but Silver comes to stand over him instead, studying the braid in question more closely at a new angle. “I have to say that thing is masterful. Truly. Careful and elegant. Very precise. It begs the question—” 

“What?” Flint says through his teeth, like it’s against his better judgement. 

Just as well, because Silver can’t fucking help himself either as he leans into Flint's ear to ask, “Are your hands that skilled, Captain?"   

Flint’s gaze snaps up to meet his, then. His eyes are piercing and hot; it's the sort of glare that has made grown men cower, Silver knows. It's the sort of glare that has reduced thieves,  _murderers_ , into nothing but pitiful sacks of flesh begging for mercy and it would absolutely level Silver, too, run him through and leave him for dead, if it weren't for the fact that under the light dust of freckles on his nose, Flint is  _fucking blushing_. 

Silver grins at him. He stays hovering above Flint until Flint huffs and storms down the stairs, sporting an even more delightful shade of crimson beneath his scowl.   

* * *

"Take care of this," Flint grunts, shoving a piece of paper into Silver's hand as they turn from the beach into the narrow bustling street.   

Silver glances at the list appraisingly and scoffs, sidestepping a crowd of merchants with their arms full of produce. "That's nowhere near enough rum to replenish our stocks, Captain."   

"I'm well aware of that," Flint snaps, stalking forward without sparing him more than a passing glare. "I have no use for a ship full of slobbering drunks. I need the men focused. I need them _sober_. You will purchase the items on that list and nothing else, do you understand?"   

"I do,” Silver says and Flint deflates somewhat, “But don't you agree that it would be wise to appease the growing discontent with a little—"   

Like a sword stuck into the ground, Flint halts in his tracks. Silver is already backing away long before Flint has even taken the first of three threatening steps towards him, his mouth twisting in distaste as he invades Silver's personal space. "I think you misunderstand your role here, Mr. Silver. I don't  _need_  you to—" 

"Hey!"   

They turn inwards in tandem to face the street. Nobody is addressing them. Nobody dares to even look at them directly, but when Silver cranes his neck a little he catches sight of a small gaggle of children at the far mouth of the alley. They are the most likely source of the racket and not much of a threat to anyone.   

He turns back to Flint to find that his eyes are still scanning the street. "I didn't mean to overstep, Captain," Silver tells the arch of his frowning brow, "I just meant—"   
  
" _Hey_!" 

Now the kids are even closer—pushing and shoving men twice their size out of their way—and it's only when they finally break through the dense crowd that Silver realises three things in rapid succession; they are all girls, none of them are older than ten, and all of them—all of them, including the tiny one trailing in the back with a thumb in her mouth and a one-eyed doll in her hand—are looking straight at Flint.   
  
"What the—" Silver starts, slanting Flint an incredulous look, "Are they talking to you?"   
  
“No.”   
  
There's something about the cadence of his voice that makes Silver laugh, once. Then Flint glances at him out of the corner of his eye.  
  
“Hang on,” Silver says, drawing close, “Do you  _know_  them?"   
  
"Mr. Flint!" the girl leading the pack exclaims, coming to a stop toe to toe with Flint himself. She's shorter than the rest, barely reaching Flint's hip—Silver guesses about eight or nine at most—with strawberry blonde hair done up in two buns on either side of her head. One is tightly wound and the other is sticking up in tufts, like it's been unraveled by force. "We've been lookin' all over for you!"   

She looks  _cross_ , of all fucking things, and the rest of the girls crowd over her shoulders on cue, mirroring the sentiment and voicing their vehement outrage. Silver recognises all of them. He’s seen them around; playing behind the tavern and building sandcastles on the beach. They are the exact sort of kids to be put into a home if Nassau were the sort of place to have homes. 

"Now is not a very good time, girls," Flint says through his teeth, and Silver's mouth drops open. "I've some ship business to attend to and it’s—Molly?" Flint's voice loses all trace of its hesitation and takes on an unfamiliar colour. “What happened?"   

"It was  _him_ ," the girl—Molly—says, sticking her bottom lip out in a grimace. It's bleeding sluggishly, staining her teeth red. She also has an angry scratch across her cheekbone and flecks of dirt in her hair.   

"Robert?" Flint asks, and Molly nods.  _What the fuck_ , Silver thinks. 

It is with equal parts awe and pure  _horror_ that Silver watches Flint drop into a low crouch to get to Molly's eye-level. He stares in shock for a moment before glancing up and down the busy street; nobody is batting an eye at the ridiculous scene before them; the most fearsome pirate in the new world reaching out a hesitant hand to carefully tip a little girl's chin up. Flint’s knuckles are still bruised from the last prize they took. 

This is a fucking mirage, of some sort, surely.   

"Tell me what happened," Flint demands. His words are customarily blunt but his tone is so low and gentle suddenly that Silver wishes he could unhear it. He knows then, with a fierce certainty, that he doesn't want to be around for the rest of this conversation. He moves to step away so as to disappear down the street before Flint shakes himself out of  _whatever this is_  and kills Silver for bearing witness to a lapse in judgement, but in his haste to leave Silver knocks into a passing man. He earns a rough shove for his troubles and it serves to bring him closer into the circle than he was before. He curses under his breath and tries to force himself not to listen. He fails. 

Molly's jaw is locked together in a stubborn pout. "He pulled me hair, Mr. Flint," she's saying in a furious rush, "He pulled it so hard I screamed and I—"   

"Molly smacked him!" the girl closest to Molly interjects, hopping up and down excitedly, "You shoulda seen it, Mr. Flint, she did it jus' like you showed us! And then—"   

"And then," the girl on Molly's other side cuts in, leaning over her shoulder, "And _then_ , Robert got proper pissed, Mr. Flint, sir, he—" 

"He smacked me back," Molly finishes with a glare at each of her friends for interrupting. "He smacked me back and I fell."   

"I see," Flint says. His voice is still _unbearable_. Silver is filled with a rush of relief when Flint finally releases her and rolls back onto his heels to stand but then Flint says, "I'll have a word with him."   

 _Jesus Christ._ Silver bites the inside of his cheek to keep from saying it out loud. 

"No!" Molly yells and grips onto the front of Flint’s jacket. In a flash Flint has ten little hands on his shoulders and he doesn’t resist at all as he’s forced back down into a crouch and Silver is starting to feel like he’s never fucking met the man before him as Molly continues, "If you tell Robert off he'll just tell the rest of the boys! They won't ever leave us alone!" 

Flint doesn’t shrug a single hand off. "I could speak to their parents," he suggests reasonably, looking around at all of them, "Would you prefer that?"   
  
Captain Flint. Speaking to parents about their misbehaving children. Captain Flint, with ten little hands on his shoulders. Captain Flint protecting children he has no fucking business protecting. Silver's head is starting to spin and he feels himself starting to panic with the wholly unwelcome sensation of being forcibly dragged backwards in time.   
  
Molly shrugs. Her bottom lip is trembling faintly. "I don't know, Mr. Flint, I—"   
  
"Tell him that Captain Flint will drag him into depths if he ever touches you again."   
  
Eleven pairs of eyes turn towards Silver at the same time. All of them appear to have forgotten his existence entirely, Flint most of all, as he blinks up at him like he’s just noticed Silver standing there.   
  
"What did you just say?"   
  
"Tell Robert—" Silver hesitates, before crouching next to Flint and addressing the girls directly. "Tell him Captain Flint makes a list of all little boys who hurt little girls. Tell him if they hurt you, if they so much as touch any of you ever again with the intent to do harm, Captain Flint will climb out of the sea and into their dreams, and drown them as they sleep in their warm, warm beds."   
  
The girls are all staring at Silver now, unblinking, some with their mouths hanging open, and Flint is—Silver has no idea what Flint is doing because he can't bring himself to fucking look. The hush that has fallen over the group is broken as Molly puts her hands on her hips and brings her tiny dirt-smeared face in close to Silver's to regard him for a long calculating moment. Her bright blue eyes are still swimming with unshed tears when they narrow into suspicious slits.   
  
"Who the fuck is _he_ , Mr. Flint?” she demands, and Silver guffaws.   
   
“Mind your manners, Molly," Flint says immediately, and he's using that voice again; authoritative but warm. "This is Mr. Silver, he's my—"   
  
"I'm no one," Silver interjects quickly, waving a hand and meeting Molly's sceptical stare head-on. "Or perhaps I'm a seer, a prophet, a follower of an ancient sea God. It doesn’t matter. All you need know is that I am someone who knows the power of a good story. You tell Robert what I just told you, and I guarantee those boys will leave you alone."   
  
After a moment of whispered discussion amongst themselves—interrupted by a few furtive glances at Silver—most of the girls seem to be on board with the idea. All of them are excited at the prospect of the boys pissing themselves with fear the second they hear the tall tale. All of them, that is, except Molly. She keeps scowling at Silver, unimpressed and unamused, until she exchanges a look with Flint. Whatever she must see in his face, her expression relaxes, and she appears to deflate somewhat.   
  
“I don’t like you,” she tells Silver belligerently, stepping away from him at last with her hands on her hips. “But I like Mr. Flint. _We_ like Mr. Flint.”  
  
Silver rocks back onto his heels and straightens up. “I can live with that. I know he’s a hard man not to like.”   
  
He feels Flint look at him then, and Silver is about to allow himself to meet his gaze at last when the the little one with the doll in the back cranes her neck above the rest to say, "You have nice hair, Mr. Silver, sir.”   
  
There’s a terrifying glint in her eye as if that statement means more than she’s letting on. The girls all take a moment to consider Silver's hair, and even Molly seems to agree, because she gives a curt nod at her posse and suddenly Silver is surrounded. There's a little hand in his hand and there's ten more on his shoulders and then he's being dragged away by a force too strong to belong to ten little girls.   
  
When Silver looks back at Flint in a panic, the girls close in on him. He sees nothing but a flash of Flint's fond smile before he's pulled unceremoniously into a side street. 

* * *

“What’s that in your hair, Mr. Silver?”   
  
"Oh, you have got to be fucking _joking_ ," Silver snaps, running a hand over his temple, "I thought I'd combed all of them out—" 

He chokes to a stop when Flint chuckles and slides in next to him at the railing. He presses warm into Silver's side from shoulder to elbow and rests his forearm next to Silver's. 

"The girls have a way of hiding their handiwork," Flint says, his eyes on the horizon. He's strangely at ease, shoulders loose with something Silver can't put his finger on but can't stop looking at. "I spent days unravelling mine last time and I still find new ones." 

"This is all your fault," Silver says, forcing himself to glare at him. "Setting your hounds loose on me and then refusing to come to my aid—"

"I didn't refuse," Flint corrects, the corner of his mouth twitching, "I think you know by now that when they set their minds to something there is very little I can do to stop them."

"Hmph." Silver says, and Flint smiles in earnest. Silver goes stupid with it, or maybe he doesn't, but that's his excuse for what he says next. "What you're doing with those kids—looking out for them when you've no duty to do so, it's—it's admirable, Captain." 

Flint draws away a little to look at him, puzzled. He stays that way for a long moment—his gaze searching—before his expression unwinds, expands like a breath into a much gentler smile that seeps right through Silver's ribs.

"You should keep it," Flint says. When Silver frowns, he rights his hand up on the railing and lets his finger twist once through the curl of hair over Silver's cheekbone. "The braid. It suits you." 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I LOVE THEIR LOVE. DAD FLINT IS MY WEAKNESS.
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://annevbonny.tumblr.com) for more senseless silverflint screaming.


End file.
